


unfinished business

by shardmind



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Angst, Asphyxiation, Assassins but like... in love, Blood, Blow Jobs, Character Death, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fainting, Ficlet Collection, Fire Goddess!Emma Swan, First Time, Fluff, Gore, Monster!Emma Swan, Nightmares, Poetry, Pregnancy, Sleep Paralysis, Smoking, Smut, Swearing, There are going to be arguably too many tags here so buckle up!, True Love, Unhappy Ending, Vampirism, Whump, Whump-ish, but like... in a sex way, good omens i guess, horror themes, magic use, shitty exes, spooky stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 15:35:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 4,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21658423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shardmind/pseuds/shardmind
Summary: A collection of captain swan drabbles, ficlets and poems that don't have homes.Catch me on twitter/tumblr: @shardminds
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 30
Kudos: 55





	1. Cracks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lillpon asked: Captain Swan!
> 
> Here's 196 words of angsty-ish hospital Captain Swan!  
Mentions of injury, magic use and swearing.

“Killian–” Fat tears roll down her cheeks and he aches to wipe them away. He doesn’t deserve them. He doesn’t deserve _her_. It had been a mistake to go after the Hydra on his own, and yet, foolishly, he’d gone anyway. _Stupid_. 

He’d reach for her if it weren’t for the damned sling cradling his once good arm tight to his body and the deep throb from his protesting ribs. He’d broken six in the fall, apparently.

“I’m fine, Love,” The smile he offers falls into a grimace as the thin hospital mattress shifts under his weight, sending pain shooting up his spine. It does nothing to convince her of his lie. Emma has always been able to read him, even after he’d convinced himself that no one would ever try. “I’m a survivor.”

“Don’t start with that shit, Killian. Not now.” She’s furious, eyes wet and face stained and he loves her a little bit more than he ever thought he could. Despite everything, she’s here. He’s here. They’re here. And that’s enough. Her hands shake as they hover over his injured chest. The ethereal glow of her magic sputters before slowly hazing into existence. 


	2. Icarus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hollyethecurious asked: Captain Swan - Trial by Fire
> 
> I don't know where this went but I love it.   
167 words.  
Emma is a fire goddess and Killian is too close to the sun.

Had there been another way, Emma would’ve taken it. 

She summoned the spark without even thinking, letting it feed and spread until her entire arm was aflame. The fire didn’t burn her like it once had. It wouldn’t dare. It was a fickle lover; possessive, greedy and so completely hers. It consumed her. It would consume him too. 

If he let it.

Killian had been warned. “You should find a normal girl,” She said, staving off the tears that threatened to fall. _“_And we’ve none of those here_.”_

He frowned, taking her face in his hands, and kissed her until she lost her train of thought in the softness of his lips. The flame continued to spread, encouraged by the heat of the kiss. Before she could think to pull away or even shout a warning, she was entirely ablaze. 

Killian watched her lovingly, as if seeing her for the first time. His hand placed softly over her flaming heart. Unburnt. 

“_I could only ever love you._” 


	3. Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> xhookswenchx asked: For the prompt: captain swan and a rainy day.
> 
> 134 words.  
All fluff, nothing else.

With legs tangled under thick winter blankets, Emma can’t help but snuggle closer. Her cheek brushes against the soft hairs of Killian’s chest and he laughs, deep and husky, as she sighs, fully intending to spend their whole morning like this. It’s rare they ever get the chance to.

It had rained all night, the soft drumming of raindrops serving as a soundtrack to their sleep. They beat gently on the windowpane, even now. 

“Five more minutes?” His sleep tainted voice curls around the words in a way that only urges her to hold him tighter, so close, in the hopes of losing track of where she ends and he begins. The patterns he traces into the skin of her waist, a gentle reminder.

Unable to stop the smile, she hums in agreement. Content.


	4. The Other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monster!fic, I guess. 
> 
> 535 words.  
Warnings for whump, gore, major character death, blood, general horror themes and implied immortality.

Watching. The skin distorts as she pulls her top lip up and over her teeth. It doesn’t tear until it’s past her nose, splitting to reveal stark ivory tainted with red. Creaking as bloodied flesh rips away, she continues to reveal herself. She had been beautiful to him once, blonde and bold, a siren calling him deeper into the thick of the forest. The moon casts her with a serene glow as her teeth elongate to ragged points, the starkness of her spindly blood-smeared form radiating as if darkness itself is afraid of her. She doesn’t even wince as she peels off her skin, smiling as it drops from her shoulders with a wet thud, parts of it dragging on the floor and revealing what lies beneath.

In a past life, he had known her name. He cannot recall it now. 

His heart races, pounding against his ribs as if trying to escape. It’s too late now. He’d been stupid. Lazy. This was his punishment. Bedtime stories his mother had told him aeons ago always warned against the forest at night. All the children lost, memorialised by portraits on milk cartons. It’s not the night that ensnares him though, his feet stuck as the roots of evergreens stretching for miles all around them. Eyes; black, empty and humongous; hold him captive. He’s not been this scared since his youth, clutching his brother tight as their mother had taken her last breath and, with it, their father’s will to live.

This is the end.

Bones crack and protest as she crouches unnaturally low on sinewy limbs, scenting the air as saliva trickles from the maw that replaced her mouth, cavernous and eternal. What's left of her skin hangs at her waist, a disguise discarded.

Crisp October air bites at his fingers – he should’ve worn his fucking gloves. Not that it matters now. Cold and alone. There are worse ways to die.

Growling, she approaches.

"I'm not scared of you." His breath catches in his throat, tripping over the words as they fall from his tongue. Muted in the bracing cold. As if he'd said nothing at all.

Hissing. Guttural gurgling. Silence.

"You never are." She lunges. He falls. They tumble.

There's Blood.

Death is a lot like life. It's slow and boring. Aimless at times. It passes with no urgency, as if not passing at all. Until it does. The squelch of his blood against where her lips once were, gushing through her serrated teeth, is deafening.

Who is she to think she has the power to kill him? Does she not know the power he holds? The unfathomable depth his soul has travelled to only be drained from his carotid artery before he’d even had the chance to discover why? She continues to drink, deeply, her tongue caressing the wound with reverence. _Next time,_ it says._ Next time_. 

Death never lasts long for him anyway. 

He knows he’ll wake up with barely a memory of his fall, like every other time. Only able to recall the faintest of memories; to seek her out, protect or raze.

Letting the darkness claim him, his last word gurgles through a mouth full of iron and salt. 

“_Emma_.” 


	5. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for the Apoca-fic.
> 
> 810 words.  
Warnings for erotic asphyxiation, smoking, sex, major character death, talk of first times, finding 'love' at the end of the world, weird people chilling under bridges, robots and an ambiguous unhappy ending... and excessive line breaks.

  


It took three days for the world to fall apart. It took eighteen hours for Boston to succumb to the riots. It took Killian four minutes to locate his gun.

  


* * *

  


“I think I’m falling in love with you.” Emma sighs, barely a whisper, head falling flat against the mattress they’d taken to sharing. Killian loves her too, more than he ever thought he could. Everything about Emma makes him want; the defiance in her eyes, her ability to smile despite the weight of the world on their shoulders, the way she wrinkles her nose in the most adorable way when all they have to eat is plain ramen and especially the way she is here, now, gripping him tight and refusing to let go, unashamed and unafraid. 

Somehow, as the city surrounding them tears itself new wounds every single day and war flourishes and blooms like poppies from the blood-soaked fields in spring, Emma found her way beneath his skin.

Pressing a kiss to her collar bone, Killian reluctantly pulls out.

“Aye, love. You say that every time.” 

Love doesn’t exist here. Not anymore.

  


* * *

  


Like everything in this world, cigarettes are hard to come by. Killian fiddles with his battered packet, pulling forth his second to last one. He’d traded a handful of bullets for fifteen rain dampened cigarettes last week to some lost boy tucked away beneath a broken bridge on the dried banks of the Charles river, his slimy yellowed teeth causing Killian to recoil as six hollow points rolled into his palm. Despite the world basically ending, he hadn’t managed to kick the habit. 

Rain pours. 

Somewhere in the distance, bombs explode like fireworks and Killian misses simpler times when cigarettes weren’t hard to come by and gas refills for Zippo lighters weren’t used as bargaining chips on the black market. 

Emma turns her nose up at the scent of stale smoke but kisses him anyway until the rain doesn’t matter anymore. 

  


* * *

  


Lips wrap around his cock without preamble; no warning, no notification, swallowing him down to the hilt with ease. 

“_Fuck_.” 

Killian struggles to shake off the shroud of sleep clinging to his movements as he tangles his fingers in Emma’s silken hair. He just can't get mad at her, not even fake mad, he’s never been able to. 

She doesn't come up for air.

  


* * *

  


Their first time was a mess; fumbling hands and eager tongues, too needy to make it anything but clumsy and rushed. Emma came before Killian even had the chance to get inside her, he’s been so focused on getting her off that he had been surprised when she actually did, body hypersensitive and receptive to his touch from months of nothing but her own hand. He remembers, so vividly, the way Emma touched her sodden flesh and brought her fingers to her mouth. The image of her tasting her own release keeps him up at night, sometimes.

Since then, things have gotten a little better.

  


* * *

  


“Fuck me like you own me.” She gasps, his hand around her throat at her own request. At the end of the world, sometimes sex just isn’t enough. There needs to be risk. There needs to be rush. Sex, sometimes, is better when your life is on the line.

Killian snarls. “You're mine.”

Emma moans. “I'm yours.”

She comes apart beneath him, so completely, that Killian wonders if, in a world where cigarettes cost bullets and clean water costs more, they’d managed to find love. 

They’d found something and, sometimes, that’s enough.

  


* * *

  


Emma has this game.

It starts with coy smiles, flirtatious glances and ends with Killian fucking into her on the stained mattress they call their own, holding her as he pistons his hips in time with the rock of hers, guiding them both closer and closer to the precipice. 

The aim of the game is to get Emma to arch her back, scream out and come so fucking hard that she whites out from it. A temporary escape from reality they both crave.

It's a nice game. Killian is good at it. He likes it best when they fall over the edge together, entwined so entirely, that anyone would have said they’d been lovers before. 

  


* * *

  


Emma doesn't come up for air.

Bullets ricochet off the walls and pierce the water's murky surface. Shoved against the wall by the metallic automaton with a blaster pressed to his throat, Killian screams. 

“Emma!”

“Please remain calm.” comes the response from the monstrosity’s speakers, a prerecorded drawl meant to reassure when the resistance first started all those years ago. Killian spits on its titanium chest plate. It doesn’t retaliate. Killian shoves at its weak points, just under each arm where the linkages are on show, but the bit holds him still, blaster powered up and buzzing against Killian’s neck. “Please remain calm.”

“_EMMA_!”

The water where she fell bleeds red.

* * *


	6. Night Terrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma can't sleep at night and Killian wants to help.  
Difficult choices aren't made. 
> 
> 1329 words  
Warnings for sleep paralysis, nightmares, vampirism, general horror-ish themes at the start... just really bad dreams and a big vampire friend.

It starts before she can stop it.

Hands, claws, everywhere. Her legs, her chest, her waist, her neck. They’re insistent, seeing purchase on her flesh. They’re not real, they’re not, but she can feel them, tearing at her skin as they seek what lies beneath. Emma can’t move, can’t speak, can’t scream, can’t even open her eyes. She wouldn’t want to, even if she could. The sight of talons raking over her strikes fear into her like nothing else could. She loses all agency like this, left prone to their whims until they fade with the rise of the sun. Each day, the sun appears, spears of light rousing her from her paralysis and eradicating the intrusive demons within seconds.

The sun or Him. On the nights when He comes, they scatter like scared mice, fleeing from a greater threat.

It’s a dream. 

A nightmare. 

They rip open her chest, cracking open her ribs in pairs, curling sharp digits around her heart until her breath comes in short, painful pants. She can’t see it, eyes screwed shut to avoid the vision of shrivelled fingers pulling her to pieces. She’d managed to look once, a grave mistake, before the darkness had swallowed her whole, dragging her further into the hallucination. She’d awoken hours later shaking and truly terrified, clinging to her comforter as if that alone could keep the monsters at bay. It had taken her weeks to fall back to sleep after that.

Fear is a powerful thing. 

It’s nothing but an annoyance now. 

_They’ll be gone in the morning_, She thinks, frantically trying to turn her mind to something other than the phantom grip tightening around her throat. _They’ll be gone and I’ll be fine and I’ll have a shower and eat pancakes and get coffee and go to work and— _and nothing. 

Emma opens her eyes.

Instead of being met with the gruesome visions that had plagued her mind’s eye, He’s stood at the end of her bed; tall, dark and brooding, a concerned frown across his brow as his dark dishevelled hair flutters in the breeze from her open window. 

“Killian, we’ve talked about this.” She groans, exasperated, trying to hide the relief that floods her system at finally being in control again. All evidence of the nightmare is gone; there’s a distinct lack of marks littering her arms where she swore she’d felt tiny incisions not minutes earlier, her heart, ribs and chest are still intact, her breath still comes with difficulty but thankfully the pressure on her windpipe is gone. 

“Aye,” He nods, frown still firmly in place but there’s a softness to it that she hates, something not too far between pity and worry. “but it’s not my fault I can hear the damned things plaguing you from all the way across town.” 

With a familiarity she wishes wasn’t there, he sits back on the edge of her mattress, careful not to displace her. The moonlight washes him in an ethereal glow, catching the edge of a smile, the darkness in his eyes, the glint of fangs and the red in his stubble. She tries not to think about how that red got there. “Maybe you should reevaluate my offer.” 

She’d do a lot of things to be rid of the night terrors. His offer is not one of them. “Hard pass.”

“Emma–” He reaches to take her hand, probably to stroke soothing circles into it like he always does but she shoves it away. Now is not the time for that. 

“_End_ of conversation.” She snaps, unable to tether her emotions any longer. Frustration bubbles to the surface beneath her skin and she knows he can feel it without even touching her. She knows because he’s there, the furrow in his brow growing deeper. He doesn’t argue. 

He sits and waits as Emma pulls herself up, sat cross legged on the opposite side of the bed. The distance is a must. She can tell from the dark bags under his eyes and the twitch in his jaw that he’s fighting off hunger and, as curious as she is about what that would entail, she’s had enough supernatural beings piercing her for one night, corporeal or otherwise. He also wouldn’t take advantage of her like that. Killian is a lot of things, dishonourable is not one of them.

As annoying as he is, she can’t deny that she’s thankful for his presence. It’s not like she can tell Mary Margaret that every night she’s torn to shreds by unknown hands that belong to something from her nightmares. That’s not the kind of conversation you can have over coffee and breakfast. Especially with anyone like Mary Margaret Blanchard who tends to let little things like ‘_my housemate is totally crazy_’ slip in casual conversation. Not in, like, a rude way. In am ‘_I’m trying my best to be a good friend but I don’t know how to help_’ way. 

Therapy doesn’t work, medication only makes it harder to wake up, and all the holistic bullcrap she’d managed to get her hands on just made her room smell like lavender and old people. Nothing works as well as Killian’s presence, lying by her side flicking through whatever the literary flavour of the week is. Last week it was Tennyson. The best thing about having Killian around is that he doesn’t ask questions, not when he already has the answers.

Apparently, being a mind reader has its perks.

The hardwood floor must be incredibly interesting from the way he’s staring holes into it. 

“They’re getting worse.” He says, softly, still staring into space. It’s not a question or an observation. It’s a fact. He can sense them too, after all. 

“I know.” Emma nods, solemnly. 

He ducks his head, rubbing the brace of his prosthesis with his other hand. She’d always wondered about it but never had the courage to ask. “I know you don’t want to risk the change but–”

“Killian–”

“No, Emma. Let me speak.” He looks at her then, and he looks tired. Tired and hurt. She hadn’t really considered that the assault of her own demons might be affecting him too. _He’s a vampire, for fuck’s sake, Emma. Of course, they’re not affecting him._

“I can hear them, you know, even now. They’re getting stronger and I fear how long it will be before–” His voice cracks and he’s pale, paler than she’s ever seen him, the moon causing him to almost glow. Her stomach drops. She knew that he could hear them while she slept, while they attacked, but now?

What the hell is going on? 

“It’s not my intention to scare you, love, but we’re running out of options, lest we share a bed for the rest of our lives. I don’t know about you but normally, I prefer to do other more enjoyable activities with a woman on her back.” The last part comes with a smirk, not all the way to the eyes but enough to coax a slow smile out of her. He can be quite charming, which is why seeing him worry like this is so out of place. So she appreciates the humour while it lasts, the jokes that soften the blow of the choice she has to make. 

Emma doesn’t want to die. 

The tears come before she can stop them, just as the dream had. 

His arms are around her, strong and all encompassing, before the first sob escapes. Leather and iron and salt. She leans into it, selfishly, knowing how her proximity must be affecting him and choosing to ignore it. She can’t bring herself to say the words she wants to say out loud. Luckily, with Killian, she doesn’t have to. 

“Nothing’s going to hurt you, my Swan.” His voice is deep, barely a whisper, a solid threat to whatever entity may be listening, and when he presses a kiss to her crown she relaxes into it. 

She believes him. 


	7. and you love her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Could you do a drabble of Emma and Alice (baby or teen). You choose what to do with this...I’m a sucker for Swan Rook ♥
> 
> 563 words  
This is essentially wannabe poetry.  
Warnings for Pregnancy and Captain Cobra Swan Rook or whatever the amalgamation of names in where Henry and Alice are Killian and Emma's biological kids. Enjoy!

She’s yours. And you love her.

From the moment your stomach starts to swell  
maybe even before that, you know that she is perfect.  
Made completely of you and your love.  
She might have your eyes but, in the silence that night brings  
she kicks inside you and  
you pray she has his.  


You would die for her.  


The gold band  
in the subtle ridge of your ring finger  
previously tethered you to him  
but it means nothing now.  


Nothing in the world could stand up to a bond as strong as this.  
As family.  
As your husband sleeps softly  
his hand caressing where your future sleeps  
you fall in love all over again.  


You don’t have the words to thank him  
for everything he’s done.  
His patience, his trust, his love in all its forms.  
There was once a time you felt you did not deserve it.  
He has taught you, time and time again  
with hopeful eyes and gentle kisses, that you do.  
And you believe him.  


He tastes of the ocean, even now.  


She is your second child.

Your first  
Henry  
10 years of age  
with his father’s dark hair and your smile  
and the stubborn nature of both,  
loves her too.  


He presses a kiss to your distended stomach  
every morning before school and  
the thought of him holding her  
your two babes, precious and gentle  
makes you weep.  


You blame the hormones and continue with breakfast.  


It does not convince your husband who whispers  
your name  
a prayer  
as he rests his forehead against yours.  
He doesn’t need to say it but he does.  


“I love you, Swan.”

He wipes your tears and you smile  
so full of adoration for him, your son, and the girl  
your daughter  
growing inside your belly.  


“I know.”

4:36am. 

She comes into your life with a scream  
and you love her.

She doesn’t calm until she’s at your breast, latching for life  
feeling the warmth of your skin and the familiar beat  
of your heart that kept her company for months.  
Your husband cries  
pressing gentle kisses to your brow  
but you can’t take your eyes from hers.  


Glacial blue becomes your favourite colour.  
The fierce grip of her fingers against your own  
the most important thing.  


You would live for her.  


“Alice.” Your voice trembles  
unshed tears and exhaustion.  
It’s the name of your husband’s mother  
who passed when he was a boy  
but you wish you could have met her.  


You wish she could have met you  
and the family you built with her son  
and witness  
true love  
in the eyes of your children  


You wish  
and wish  
and wish  
that  
despite being perfect and so intrinsically yours  
your family wasn’t plagued with so much loss.  


Her first word catches you off guard and you shake  
as you call your husband’s phone.  


“Killian! Killian, she said it!”

He laughs and you fall in love with him  
all over again.  
How could you not.  


“And I missed it?”

Your daughter, your Alice  
not one to disappoint  
repeats herself.  


_Dada_.

You spend the weekend, all four of you  
your boys tucked on either side  
with your Alice in your lap  
enthralled by her so entirely.  


She has you all in the palm of her chubby little hand  
undoubtedly at her whim.  


And that’s okay.

There’s not a place in the world you would rather be.


	8. Bounty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is 100% inspired by a moodboard i made by accident.
> 
> written as a warm up.  
64 words.

  


  


in your gut  
you know  
there is a bullet in his gun  
with your name etched on the side  
in his own hand

you know  
there is a throwing knife  
strapped to your ankle  
with his  
in yours

and yet  
in his bed you forget

wishing the bounty on his head  
didn’t already line your pockets  
and in his arms  
you didn’t find home


	9. unto the breach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked: captain swan whump please
> 
> 316 words.  
Emma faints on Killian.  
Warnings for passing out.

Emma could drown in the blue of his eyes, tempestuous as a summer storm, if he let her. In another life, she would, slipping into the icy depths and letting the weight of what lies there drag her under. Maybe that would be easier. He, Killian, has the most lovely eyes. There are definitely worse ways to go. A frown settles on his brow but before she can even truly register the emotion he’s conveying his whole demeanour softens and there are only calm waters staring back. Trust the pirate, loyal only to the sea, to have eyes reminiscent of the territory he sails. 

Loyal only to the sea, and to her. 

“What did you do?” He asks, stroking away the stray hairs that had adhered to her cheekbone, voice quiet and level in a way that would have previously fortified her resolve. Now, she knows it’s concern, and it doesn’t scare her as it once did. Now, it’s deserved. The gash above her brow throbs and she can feel the trickle of something wet against her temple. Ocean spray or blood or both. She tries for a smile but twinges at the wave of pain that shoots through her skull and, for once, she doesn’t try to hide it. Holding herself upright takes enough effort as it is, she doesn’t have the energy to keep up more appearances than that. Teleporting to his ship had almost wiped her out. 

“You should see the other guy.” The words come out in a voice she doesn’t immediately recognise, coy, yet distant and rough, heavy as her consciousness is sluggishly pulled from under her. The laugh that escapes brings along with it another twinge that settles behind her eyes, in her throat, in the back of her skull. It’s agony. The world goes dark as her knees give in and she falls and falls and never stops falling. 


	10. ghosts of the others

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> written as a warm up.  
(almost) 400 words.
> 
> _escape comes easier than home does  
and along the way  
pieced together by distance and cigarettes  
you stop trying to find yourself in men_

you fall for an actor  
maybe a year or two older  
who hasn’t quite made it  
he’s youth and optimism   
fresh-faced  
brand new but  
on his breath, you taste decay   
vodka   
lipstick   
he lies for a living   
and you learn not to trust again

you fall for a drunk  
no—a connoisseur  
he owns a vineyard surrounded by forest  
and when he says  
wine tastes sweeter from your lips  
he also lies  
bitterness coating his tongue  
after you give parts of yourself   
that can never return  
he runs  
leaving only dead vines 

you fall for a businessman   
older  
eternally in suits  
and he fucks you on his desk  
promising a world he cannot give  
on his borrowed time  
she finds out eventually  
the only evidence  
your slashed tyres  
his apology  
all five figures of it  
buys you a new car

escape comes easier than home does  
and along the way  
pieced together by distance and cigarettes  
you stop trying to find yourself in men

while you weren’t looking  
you fall for a stranger  
tall, dark  
the saddest eyes you’ve ever seen  
drowning  
rum and ash  
and life itself  
you take his hand by accident  
kiss him by mistake  
and as he fumbles with your bra  
laughter on his tongue  
you expect it to feel wrong, like  
ghosts of the others  
but it doesn’t

you are  
two ships passing in the night  
but  
you can’t help it  
he’s warm and solid  
gasping as you leave your mark  
blood red, the length of his spine  
he shows you stars  
brings you closer  
with each flick of his tongue  
in ways you never knew possible   
until you’re among them

if once is an accident  
twice is a coincidence  
and three times is a habit

what is waking embraced in his arms  
no longer between hotel sheets  
wearing his shirt  
your heels in his closet  
your toothbrush in his bathroom  
and three of your lipsticks on his vanity  
sighing _good morning, killian_  
before he can even blink away sleep

he never tires of your name  
and the taste of his on your lips

he says  
i love you  
far too soon

without the weight of the world on your shoulders  
you believe him

so you fall for that stranger  
and his eyes are only for you  
his sharp smile and your sweet kiss  
espresso and hot chocolate


	11. a candle on fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last person she’d expected to see sitting in the window seat of a crowded Starbucks one rainy day in central London was Killian Jones. 
> 
> good omens!au  
335 words

The last person she’d expected to see sitting in the window seat of a crowded Starbucks one rainy day in central London was Killian Jones. Well, maybe not the last. The last would probably be Uriel from Creation. Such a pointless department. Sure, they’d seen a mad rush of work about four and a half billion years ago—the time of_ The Creation_—but since then, the humans have pretty much done all the creating for themselves. He hadn’t left the office in aeons. Not even for Christmas parties and Gabriel’s award-winning holy martini’s.

Just beneath Uriel’s name on that list of people Emma Swan didn’t expect to see drinking black coffee on a Thursday morning just a stone’s throw from Tottenham Court Road station is the person doing just that. 

Killian Jones.

As if on cue, he looks up from the void of his beverage and zeroes his focus directly on her. Same dark scruff and devilish smirk. Same damn leather jacket he’d picked up in the fifties when he used to slick his hair into a pompadour and act like he’d invented rock and roll. She hadn’t been much better, in a poodle skirt and cat-eye sunglasses, bobbing along to the beat.

He’d been there corrupting the curious youth with the promise of sex, drugs and… well, rock and roll. She’d been working small miracles in small towns across the states and encouraging people to keep the faith. 

It had been easy work. After her involvement in the ending of the second great war, Gabriel had loosened her reigns a little; the frivolous miracles she conjured went unnoticed, her paperwork miraculously found itself completed, her serial involvement with a certain enemy was not seen, nor heard, nor mentioned.

They’d parted ways in sin, between bedsheets and bookshelves and bottles of wine. The way they always did. Angels have fallen for less. 

She’d not seen him since.

He raises a hand in a wave and Emma can feel the burn of his gaze through his sunglasses. 


End file.
